


Or What You Will

by magnetgirl



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Shakespeare Quotations, Stolen Moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26480119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetgirl/pseuds/magnetgirl
Summary: Some years into their complicated relationship, Daenerys is reminded why she fell in love with Jorah in the first place.
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 16
Kudos: 26
Collections: Jorleesi Equinox Exchange -Fall 2020





	Or What You Will

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clarasimone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarasimone/gifts).



> In 1994 I attended the [British American Drama Academy](http://www.bada.org.uk/)'s summer program in Oxford. As part of the program we spent one Saturday in Stratford-Upon-Avon, watching two Royal Shakespeare Company performances: a matinee of _Twelfth Night_ , and _Henry V_ in the evening. Iain Glen starred as Henry. 
> 
> Obviously I didn't know that decades later I would be entirely enamored of the man because of his earnest portrayal of a true knight in service to my favorite queen. In fact I am aggrieved to say I have no recollection of the performance at all. But of _Twelfth Night_ I remember two things clearly, and incorporated both into this fic. I hope it at least approaches what you asked for.

Daenerys had been in the national spotlight for nearly a decade but the ever increasing crowds still shook her. She was dressed like a queen and a thousand voices called her name as she made her way down the red carpet. She was safe, she knew. Tyrion was handling the press, chattering and charming, selling her brand as no one else could. Grey was in her shadow, his quick eyes scanning the crowd for danger. Missandei worked the crowd, facilitating autographs and selfies for the fans she found worthy. Jon was … somewhere. Her latest costar, and alleged lover, had his own screaming fans and his own entourage to manage them. Dany didn’t particularly care where he’d wandered off to. Jorah, her real lover, and the costar of her life, was at her side. 

She reached the first press square in the gauntlet of flashbulbs and live mics that made up the first thirty plus minutes of an awards show appearance. Daenerys stepped up to the white tape X on the floor, pointed her toes toward the camera and struck a pose like her stylist taught her. She smiled with her eyes and babbled about her dress,

"Valentino. Don't you love it? It makes me feel powerful!"

her chances, 

"Oh, don't be silly. No! Of course I haven't an acceptance speech. I'm just thrilled to be nominated."

and her plans 

"I actually have two period dramas coming up— I know! It's so hard to keep everything straight. I want to be a super hero. Do you think you can make that trend?"

on cue.

As always, she dazzled. But within the shimmering starlet who learned to conquer with confidence was a shy dreamer. She stepped from square to square, camera to camera, question to question and never faltered. Only Jorah noticed the flutter of anxiety behind her eyes. They reached the last stop, a raised dais covered in the same soft red of the carpet. Waiting to be called before the camera and to the mercy of a million Twitter opinions, she curled her fingers into a fist behind her back. Jorah brushed her arm, his touch soft, warm, familiar. Her skin tingled and the memory washed over her.

* * *

There were two oft repeated comments that summer. (1) That Jorah Mormont was too old to be playing Henry V and (2) that Daenerys Targaryen was too young to be playing Viola.

Jorah was returning to the stage after an extended stint in the wrong kind of spotlight. Tax scandal, marriage collapse, fortune and reputation in ruins. This was his comeback, his reinvention as a mature leading man. Older, wiser, humbled. But virile, passionate, a star. Benedick would have been best but the RSC did Much Ado the summer before. Jorah preferred drama in any case. And the transformation from Prince Hal to King Henry was also apt. What's five or fifteen years? Mormont was a talent. 

Daenerys, on the other hand, was the exact age that Viola should be. But she was just out of university. Lead roles weren't awarded to beginners. Dany didn't have a sordid past she had to live down. No, it was much worse than that. Dany didn't have a past at all. She was young and beautiful and brilliant — and everyone hated her. Saw her as an example of everything that was wrong with theater these days. 

Dany didn't care. Her manager — her brother — had a plan to build her up, conquer the West End, and use her fame and fortune as his ticket to Hollywood. Once she was a name he could sell her to the highest bidder, or at least the highest willing to let him direct. Dany's dreams were simpler. Hollywood was far away. Even London was bigger and busier than she knew what to do with. She liked Stratford. And she loved the stage. The shine of the lights hot on her face. The heft of the curtains, as intricate and opulent as any tapestry. The sound of a thousand people trying to be still. Since she was little people would tell her she had a gift for telling stories. Dany just wanted to tell stories.

Still, the more the bourgeois snobs in the audience, the press hungry for a scandal, and her less talented rivals in the company watched and waited and salivated for her to falter, the stronger Daenerys became. By the end of tech week, eighteen hours days and three nights of previews, she had a sheen about her. Like she'd walked through fire and rather than fade to ash, she grew wings.

But at the gala that evening, surrounded by corporate sponsors, entertainment journalists, a score of senior citizens wearing way too many feathers and furs, and a company of close knit actors who'd acted, partied, and slept together for years — she was apart and alone.

Viserys worked the room and eventually disappeared with one of the gaudiest dressed women of a certain age. The sun set, the wine flowed, the actors grew louder and rowdier and wandered away in twos and threes to tryst on Shakespeare's grave. Daenerys sat on marble steps, posture perfect and dress flared, all blue silk and gold lattice. Her fingers curled around an empty champagne flute. She was even invisible to the staff. 

Sighing Daenerys stood and walked to the closest cocktail table to deposit her glass. The surrounding trees were covered in fairy lights. She'd found them whimsical and romantic when she'd arrived but now they seemed to mock her.

"Have you ever kissed someone?"

Dany turned, blinked at the actor whose name took up a fifth of their shared poster for the summer season. He'd never spoken to her before. As far as she could tell he'd never noticed her before. "...What?"

"Have you kissed someone?"

She frowned. "I… am not going to answer that."

"No, then." His lips quirked up in a smile. 

Dany glared. "It's none of your business!"

"On the contrary, I'm an actor."

"What?"

Jorah chuckled. He considered launching into one of his well rehearsed odes to ‘the craft’ but she wasn't a wealthy socialite he wanted to impress. She wasn't even the wide-eyed ingenue she appeared to be. There was something very compelling about this girl. He wanted to know her.

"Act two, scene four, Orsino's bedroom. You play Viola's confession quite well."

"Thank you." Daenerys responded on cue. Polite, as she was taught. But her eyes narrowed. Was he making fun of her? 

"Particularly the line, what is it, I am all the brothers..."

"I am all the daughters of my father's house," she said, falling into the recitation. "And all the brothers too: and yet I know not."

"Yes." His eyes met hers. "Plaintive and yearning. You hold everyone captive." Daenerys felt her cheeks flush under his scrutiny and she lowered her eyes. "But then."

Dany frowned at her feet. "What then?"

"Then he kisses you."

She looked up, eyes flashing, but Jorah was turned toward the bar, contemplating another drink. "And?"

"And the spell is broken."

Dany sputtered. "The scene—"

"Yes." Jorah glanced back to her. "But the scene should break the kiss not the other way around."

Daenerys pressed her lips together. She could not scream, or cry, or push him into the lake though the idea helped her mood. It didn’t matter what any of these people thought. They were stepping stones on her way to destiny. They were pebbles beneath her feet.

Jorah took in the resentment she was holding back. "What are you thinking about in that moment? When Viola's laid her truth as bare as she dares and the Duke responds?"

The man who played the Duke barely acknowledged her off stage. Drogo was beautiful, but the way a storm is beautiful. Powerful, distant, and poised to destroy. He was miscast truth be told, but he's a draw and her brother said people like to imagine him having his way with her, and with the pretty redhead who plays Olivia, possibly both at once. Her brother said a lot of things she wished he wouldn't.

Jorah waited for an answer. When Viola's laid her truth as bare as she dares and the Duke responds… When the Duke, when Orsino — when Drogo leaned down and covered her mouth with his. When he caught her bottom lip between his teeth and squeezed her behind with his rough hands. What was she thinking in that moment?

"Where the light is," she answered. She had to lift her chin to catch it.

Jorah shook his head. "It shows."

Dany's cheeks flushed an even deeper red and this time there was no desire, only shame. She looked away, pressed her arms to her sides so she wouldn't curl in on herself. She felt tears behind her eyes but forced them away, refused to let him see how small and lost she felt. The party had morphed into something dark and unkind, a game she didn't have the tools to play. 

"Thank you for your critique, ser," she murmured and started to move away with as much haste as she could hide. She prayed he'd head to the bar and forget her. But instead he reached out to catch her arm. 

His fingers brushed against her skin. Jorah was tall and his hand nearly engulfed her arm. There was a chill in the air but his grasp was warm, and gentle. He wasn't holding her in place, he was asking her to stay.

Dany stared at the curve of his fingers against her skin. No one had touched her outside of the play in ages. Even Viserys had ignored her for weeks. She'd convinced herself it didn't matter, but her whole body responded to his touch.

Jorah sensed the storm of emotions swirling within her, and his own rising to meet them. Her eyes fluttered and her breath caught in her chest. He felt her choosing flight and stepped into her path. He would give her something to cling to. A story to tell.

"What dost thou know?"

She frowned. He raised an eyebrow. She pursed her lips and answered. "Too well what love women to men may owe: in faith, they are as true of heart as we." The recitation gave her courage. "My father had a daughter loved a man, as it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, I should your lordship."

Jorah drew his fingers down her arm. "And what's her history?"

"A blank, my lord." Daenerys lowered her eyes and put all her loneliness into the words. "She never told her love, but let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, and with a green and yellow melancholy she sat like patience on a monument, smiling at grief." She turned back to meet his eyes. "Was not this love indeed?"

Her chest shook. Jorah tightened his grasp. He could feel the anger pulsing through her, a volcano of rage at a world that had never been kind to her. 

"We men may say more, swear more: but indeed our shows are more than will; for still we prove _much_ in our vows, but _little_ in our love." She spat the last words at his face. His eyes were drawn to her trembling lips.

"But died thy sister of her love, my boy?"

Daenerys raised her chin. A tiny movement, too small for the stage. But it shook Jorah to his core. It was all he could do not to drop to his knees.

"I am all the daughters of my father's house, and all the brothers too: and yet I know not." She leaned in with the last word and he met her lips.

In the play the Duke's kiss was hungry, sudden, and meant to leave him confused and Viola afeared. Daenerys and Jorah's kiss was long, deep, and electric. He met her yearning with his own. Two wandering souls finding home in each other.

Dany pulled back, her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes darted in the dark, trying to make sense of the moment, to determine the line between fantasy and reality, between performance and truth. 

Jorah drew close, leaned down to whisper in her ear, his breath warm against her skin.

"You are the light."

It was years before they acted on the promise of that beginning. But Jorah was the constant in her life. He navigated her through the social machinations of that summer. Helped her break free from her brother's manipulations and take control of her career. Kept a watchful eye as she rose in acclaim. He was guide and guard and confidant, at her side for every disastrous relationship and career misstep.

Rumors followed them from the beginning but they ignored the chatter. Theirs was the one relationship no outsider could touch. Even when they argued, when she didn't speak to him for half a year, when he was ill and refused to let her put her career on hold to care for him — in all times and in all things they were threaded together.

When they finally fell into bed it was the culmination of a thousand tiny moments, a life full of love.

* * *

She beamed through the interview, waved to her fans, and cemented her reputation as the shining star of her generation. The journalist thanked her and waved to the next actress in line, Dany's chief competition, Cersei Lannister. Daenerys fully expected Cersei to win. Her rival played a deposed queen. She was assaulted, humiliated, and abandoned, and if there was anything Hollywood loved, it was the degradation of a beautiful woman. But Cersei was also past forty and would soon be playing the mother of some man barely five years her junior whose love interest was twenty-two. Daenerys had time, had love, and she admired Cersei's competitive drive. Still, it would be nice to win. 

Dany stepped off the dais and through the entrance that lead her away from flashing cameras and prying eyes. As soon as she crossed the threshold she let her shoulders fall and dropped her head against Jorah's chest. His arms circled around her small frame in a bear hug and she breathed in his scent.

"Do you remember our first kiss?" She tipped her head up to meet his eyes.

Jorah's lips quirked and he pressed his lips to her forehead. "Ay," he answered, elongating the word in his deep baritone. "Ay, but I know."

She grinned. "What dost though know?"

They had thirty seconds at most before someone, press, house manager, Cersei, Tyrion, someone, would burst in and catch them. But their relationship expanded out in every direction. 

_Too well what love women to men may ow_ e, wrote Shakespeare, _In faith, they are as true of heart as we_.

"I love you," Jorah answered. 


End file.
